And It's Just Impossible
by alicemayisbetter
Summary: Slash, McGee/Gibbs, McGibbs. Tim wants the impossible... but if there's anyone who can make it seem possible, it's Abby. Rating may change. ABANDONED
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable is mine.

I'm actually kind of scared to be starting a multi-chapter fic because I'm pretty sure my adoring fans (all none of them) will rip my throat out if I take too long to add chapters. I never really considered McGibbs as a possible ship before but then the Killer Plot Bunny of Caerbannog just came along and... well... ripped my throat out. What? It's what it _does_. So anyway, here it is, my Great McGibbs Adventure, and any feedback is welcome.

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><p>McGee sat at his desk in a mixture of boredom and the usual quiet sadness. He took the risk of glancing over at Gibbs where he was sitting filling out some form or other. McGee jumped when the phone rang, disturbing the unusually quiet atmosphere.<p>

Oh, right. Tony was out interviewing a suspect. That was probably why.

Gibbs hung up the phone and glanced over to him.

"Abby needs help with Lt. Haylin's computer, McGee."

"Right boss," McGee said. "On it, boss." Maybe a little Abby time was exactly what he needed. After all, Abby was the only one who knew about how he felt. He could talk to her at least.

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><p>Abby looked at him sympathetically. "Oh, McGee. Did something happen? There isn't a new redhead, is there?"<p>

"No, Abby. It's just the usual absolutely nothing."

Abby turned away from her keyboard and hugged him. "Bossman really does like you, Tim. He _does_. He's just really bad at showing it."

"You keep saying that, Abby. But he barely even looks at me most days. Sometimes he basically says that he can't stand to so much as be in the room with me. It sucks. It really does."

"I swear, I think he definitely doesn't dislike you."

"Oh, because that's so much better."

"Well, it means there's hope, right?"

McGee sighed. "It would probably be better if there wasn't hope. I'm sick of hope. I'm sick of waiting and praying and overanalyzing every move he makes and every comment of his. I just want to not have to deal with my feelings anymore."

"I'll prove it to you that he really does like you, McGee."

McGee just looked at her.

"That's impossible, Abby. He just _doesn't_."

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><p>The days went on much the same as usual. Cases came in and cases were wrapped up and a few went cold. Tony got headslaps and Ziva got reprimands and Abby got hugs and Caf-Pow and McGee got nothing. McGee slowly reminded himself, through constant recalling of all the times Gibbs had scolded him and praised someone else, even if it wasn't fair, that nothing would ever make Gibbs care.<p>

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><p>So anyway, tell me what you think!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

The slightly belated Chapter Two. I've had it written for a while, but I haven't had a chance to post it. Chapter Three should be coming soon(er than the last one did), but I can't make any promises.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter One. Reviews are love! (My cliché-alert just went off (maybe more like a hackneyed-alert) but I don't really care. (Parentheses!))

Again, blanket disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine.

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><p>Four weeks later, everything was still exactly the same. Cases came in and cases wrapped up, tide came in and tide came out, and Abby still hadn't been able to produce anything vaguely resembling proof. The only thing that made that day any different from the past month was that it was McGee's birthday.<p>

He had not yet quite lost the vague feeling that things were supposed to go right on his birthday. That at least, even if there wasn't a party or cake or anything, he would get some kind of "happy birthday" and people would smile at him and nothing would go too badly.

McGee was feeling quietly devastated. No one had remembered his birthday. At all.

He realized he sounded like Eeyore but didn't really care.

If his life were a sitcom, when he got home and opened the door someone would flick a switch and the team would have a surprise birthday party waiting for him and everyone would have bought him presents and Gibbs would love him back. But of course, life isn't a sitcom, and when McGee got home, he still had a dark, empty apartment and no presents except Sarah's and Gibbs was still as straight as straight gets.

Tim wondered what was wrong with him as he lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. He'd gotten Gibbs a present on his birthday (he'd found out when it was from Abby), leaving a bag of expensive coffee on his desk before he left for the weekend. He'd given Tony a box of movie quote cards and Ziva a knife, and Abby… well, he'd rather not think about what he got Abby for her birthday.

Was he still just the probie to them?

Usually when he felt insecure like this, he tried to reassure himself by remembering the times Gibbs or Tony (mostly Gibbs) had commended him for good work, the times Ziva joined forces with him against Tony, the day he found out his book was being published, the day his publisher called him in and told him it was a huge success, the times when Gibbs would compliment him over Tony, all the times when things happened that made him feel like he belonged and was needed and necessary.

Tonight, it didn't work. Everything else aside, it was his _birthday_. If they cared at all at least a few of them would have remembered. Maybe it was time to stop trying. Maybe he should give up trying to make them care.

Maybe...

Maybe he should leave.

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><p>So was it better than chapter one? Worse? Not enough to tell either way? Should I keep writing this? (I will anyway.) Should I abandon it to die a painful, incompleted death? (I may do so, but not intentionally.)<p>

Thanks

Leah


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, Chapter Three is up! Blanket NCIS-is-not-mine disclaimer for this and all future chapters, OK? I don't own the show or the characters or anything so much as tangentially related to the show/characters. Also, no money is made off this.

This chapter is still pretty short but it's a better length at least. Right? Right? Please don't kill me for my inability to keep from chopping my writing into tiny little sections. Oh, and incidentally, all my work is unbeta'd, so mistakes/general weirdness are all my fault. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I refuse to go back and check.

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><p>When McGee arrived at NCIS the next day, he was still groggy and irritable despite an extra-large cup of coffee and far too much sugar. He worked mechanically through the morning, unable to pitch in to Tony and Ziva's usual bickering. Gibbs kept shooting him odd looks, though he pretended he didn't notice. <em>Probably wondering what the hell my problem is.<em>

He grabbed at the first opportunity to visit Abby, desperate to avoid Gibbs' stares.

"Hey, Abby," he said, attempting (and failing) to seem cheerful.

"Oh, McGee! Here!" Abby thrust a box into his hands and bounced up and down waiting for him to open it. "'tmad—"

"Abby. Breathe." She paused in her neverending stream of talk. "Ok, _what_?"

"It's your birthday present, silly! You don't think I'd _forget_! I just ordered it too late and so it didn't come when it was supposed to. And I didn't want to mention anything in case it still didn't come and then I didn't see you anyway and I'm so sorry!"

McGee looked up at Abby and smiled. "Thank you, Abby."

He pulled on the ribbon and opened the box to find a vintage-style typewriter with "Property of Thom E. Gemcity" engraved on it.

"So is it okay? It's the right kind, right?"

McGee grinned. "Of course it is, Abby. It's perfect. The "m" key broke on my old one just last week."

"Oh, Timmy! I'm so glad! So, what other presents did you get?"

McGee suddenly stopped being quite as happy. "Oh… um… Sarah sent me this great book I've been meaning to get for ages…" He started talking about the book, trying to distract Abby from her question. It worked, actually, and he got called up by a case before she could remember what she'd asked him. Just as he was leaving, she called him back.

"Oh, and McGee?"

"Yes, Abby?"

"I _will_ prove that Gibbs likes you! I will!"

"Of course you will, Abby."

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><p>Abby's present had made a bleak situation slightly less depressing, but it was still demoralizing to know that no one else cared enough to get him something. He realized that he'd spent the afternoon shooting wounded looks at Gibbs only when Gibbs finally hit the desk and barked,<p>

"What is it, McGee? You look like I shot your puppy."

Tony and Ziva looked up.

"_Did _someone shoot your puppy, McGee? Besides you that one time, I mean," Ziva asked.

"No, I— No, it's fine, boss. Everything's fine, thanks for asking," McGee muttered into his computer screen.

"You sure, McGee?" asked Gibbs tersely (well, does Gibbs say anything without being terse?).

_Why are you asking? It's not like you care,_ McGee almost said.

"I'm fine, boss."

McGee was getting very good at lying through his teeth.

After that, everyone went back to work. McGee was searching through his files for some data about a cold case they were reviewing when something caught his eye—a Word document marked "Resignation Letter- Use If Needed." He opened it and read through it, slowly, then sent it to his home computer.

He might need it.

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><p>When he got home, McGee opened the file he'd sent to himself and read it over, considering whether he'd reached the point of quitting and trying to find a job where people didn't hate him inexplicably. Eventually he decided against it. He could just be having a bad month—there were quite a few good times he'd had with NCIS. He would definitely keep that option open, though. If things didn't change soon, he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it.<p>

As it was, he knew he had to make changes. The fact that his self-esteem was so tied to his team's approval—that Gibbs not wanting him was tearing him apart—these were signs that he was too involved in the job. Way too involved.

It seemed to Tim that leaving NCIS would be easier if he'd already distanced himself a little bit. Maybe a little perspective was just what he needed to get his head on straight. Maybe if he accepted that he was an outsider instead of throwing himself headlong into whatever team activities he could, he wouldn't feel like a failure or a loser if they didn't try to include him.

He decided that a good start would be figuring out which parts of his non-NCIS life to start focusing more on. Online gaming, while fun, also meant there was no guarantee of ever meeting and socializing in real life.

As he was looking around his apartment, a flash of yellow caught his eye. He wandered over to it and realized it was one of the many papers his publisher was always giving him for writing groups and writers' collaboration opportunities. He'd never really been interested in that sort of thing before, but he could at least try to meet people interested in something besides law enforcement.

He was making progress.

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><p>AN:

I will start developing Gibbs' POV or some such in the next few chapters, promise. Thanks to all the reviewers!

Oh, and I don't really know if there is any such thing as "writing groups and writers' collaboration opportunities," but please cut me some slack. I'm a teenager, I don't know a lot about publishing. If I knew a lot about publishing I would probably not write fanfiction.

Leah


	4. Author's Note

Okay.

Well.

I'm sorry, guys, I really am. I am a bad person.

A bad person who just transferred to a new school and spent the last two months trying not to fail French, but still. I am a bad person.

Not only have I not been updating more for this, but I've realized that there was a reason I had McGibbs on my less-favored-pairings list: because it is FREAKING IMPOSSIBLE to write. I have literally NO IDEA where to go with this. If anyone wants to adopt my poor, neglected fic and actually finish it, feel free, just let me know first.

I have other stuff that I've worked on in the past couple of months, so I'm not ceasing my writing altogether. I just can't keep writing this.

Again, just to be clear, this fic is going on PERMANENT HIATUS unless a miracle happens and (insert-deity-of-choice) comes to me and tells me how to finish it. And (your-diety-of-choice) definitely has better things to do than give me plot ideas.

I apologize again to everyone who was even vaguely interested in this: it is completely my fault.

Sorry!

Apologetic lessthanthrees from

**that other leah**


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